Letters from a Prince
by The Loud Guy
Summary: Takes place after the ending of Coming Home, an alternative story set on the Birthright path. Sakura has been given care of letters that the late Prince Xander left for Corrin, to determine if they should be delivered or not. An epistolary collection going over the unsent letters Xander wrote to Corrin over the course of his life.


Three months had passed since Leo had given her the stack of letters that were now sitting on the floor next to her.

The evening had grown late, and Hana and Subaki had both excused themselves for the day. Sakura lit a single candle, throwing a soft light that lit the majority of her room. Not too long ago this would have been something worth remarking on by the castle staff, but by now it was known that she had been spending the past few months worth of evenings brushing up on her Nohrian script. Very studious of her, went the whispers at the court, very _dutiful_ , that the youngest princess should put herself to matters of state, especially so that she might be better able to communicate with the Nohrian royalty. Rumors swelled from there, rumors beyond belief, rumors about her and Leo, her and Elise, her and queen Camilla herself, every time she heard a rumor (and it was always from Hana, spitting and stuttering with fury) it was to the tune that her devotion to her nation was so great that she was seeking to more permanently tie the two kingdoms together.

That was not true, but she did not try to stop the rumors, did not mention them to Ryoma or Hinoka. In time she might find a way to make them useful, and if not... well, there were worse things to be thought of as dutiful, even if it was the particular breed of dutiful that framed her as being chattel. Better that, for a princess, than the more vulgar members of court learning the real truth of the letters.

The late Xander's Nohrian script was as practiced and elegant as his Hoshidan, neat and tidy without seeming mechanical; learning to read the letters had been partially driven by her appreciation for the craft of them, so that when she did decide to read them she might be able to see what made them so special. Each of the letters was in a plain envelope, and Xander had written nothing on their exterior; until a few weeks before his death, he had never considered that anyone might eventually read them. Yet read they had been, Leo poring over every single one of them to determine if they contained state secrets (or for other reasons, reasons he hadn't shared, but she would not guess at those). She considered the pile there, the history contained in those letters. Each missive was a special communication, one soul speaking to another. How much of a man could be contained in his correspondence? How much of the dead prince lingered in the room with her, a specter sitting in silence?

She was stalling. She breathed deep, wondered if she should get something to drink. Leo had sent her an entire crate of Elise's special vintage of wine, and each of her siblings liked it but she was the only one who drank it regularly. A cup would go down nicely now.

Still stalling.

She reached over, took the letter from the top of the pile. Xander had written nothing on the envelope, but there was a note attached to it, a piece of scrap paper affixed with some thin adhesive. Leo's handwriting was small, uniform, precise. Since it was written in Nohrian she had to read it out loud, pronouncing each syllable with careful slowness.

"The day before our coup." She stopped for a moment. This would be the last letter, then, the last thing Xander had ever written to Corrin. Should she start with this, at the end of his life? Would it be better to start from the beginning?

But, no, even that question was its own delaying tactic. The letter was in her hands. She would start there.

She opened the envelope, drew out the letter, unfolded it. It was just a letter, she told herself. Well-written, and full of secrets, but still only a letter.

Slowly she began, so slowly, but she would pick up speed.

"Little princess..."

* * *

Little princess,

The pen I hold is heavier than my sword has ever been. Forgive me the slowness of my hand. Forgive me my cowardice, that I may only speak these words to you in writing. Forgive me, for when you read this I will surely be dead. I have failed you in many things, and I think of this at the last, that I cannot tell you the truth to your face, and it is like a knife twisting in my chest. I am sorry.

Yet these things I must tell you.

Over the course of my life I have been yoked to my title; there is no action I have taken that was not dictated, in small or large part, by what it means to be the crown prince of a kingdom. In some cases it has been a source of strength, of surety and moral wholeness, but these incidents are so much more rare than their opposites. I have combated my father's evils where my station and my will have allowed me, but far more often they have failed me and I have failed the nation that yearns to be free of his tyranny. It has seemed that the only time I act in the capacity of the crown has been to commit an atrocity, or to allow some evil to flourish unchecked. All around me there is evil, and I am complicit in it, and it is impossible for a person to be so surrounded and not be stained. My weakness has been a blight upon me, and many were the nights where I would look to the future and see only a long road soaked in blood, stretching out forever. I have never had the courage to turn my head, to seek another path.

You changed that.

It was not in the moment of meeting you, or of escorting you to the Northern Fortress, or teaching you the sword, or that dread day where you sided against our profaned land. It was not, even, in the moment where I was your interrogator, and you lay your soul bare before me, showing me the inherent sanctity of the pain we carry. I think instead that you have been chipping away at the edifice of my weakness for the entire time that I have known you, daring me to be strong, lifting me up when I failed, and never blaming me when I was not up to the task set before me. I cannot tell you the changes wrought in me by knowing you, because it is in the entirety of my person, and without you... I dare not think of it.

Before you read this letter, you will have heard a great many stories. That I drove the king to wage war with Hoshido; that I slew my father when his heart faltered and it seemed that the war would end; that I was subdued by Leo and Camilla, nearly killing them in the attempt. I will have been tried for my crimes. I will have confessed to each of them. I will be dead. Or, perhaps, you will have heard the shorter version: that an insurrection failed, and the crown prince of Nohr was executed for crimes against the crown. If that happens, then once more I am sorry that I must leave the war in your hands.

The truth is this: in speaking to me of what happened to you, you broke the last of the chains that had bound my heart. What I do in the coming days I do because there is nothing less that I owe to my people, to my family, and to you who has given me the strength to do what is right. I will fight my father, and I will make peace with Hoshido or I will fail. None of the guilt for what has happened is yours, none of the blood spilled is by your hand; it is my father's, and mine because I could not stop him. If this tragedy ends with me dead in the throne room, know that I only fought as far as I did because I kept you in my thoughts. If we succeed and Nohr at last finds some measure of peace, it will be because you lit the path of righteousness for me. Whatever evil I have done is mine, but what good I do now, in success or in failure, I do because you helped me to believe.

I wish that I might say this to you now, be in your presence one last time, touch your hand and find calm in the surety of your grip. You have never known your own strength, but I know, and I am in awe of you. No matter what happens, I am in awe of you, and give thanks to the gods that I have had the privilege to know you. I hope that I may give my life to a purpose that will spare you some greater pain. In these last moments I wish that I could be a hope to you as you have been to me. I pray that you will read this and understand, and that you can forgive me for burdening you with a dead man's heart.

I am yours, Corrin. For ever.

Xander

* * *

Sakura spoke the name, and her voice was hoarse. She folded the letter, placing it back into its envelope, and the envelope back onto the pile, which she bound with string.

The bundle of letters she set aside. She put out the candle and lay in the dark, glad that no one could see her, glad that there was no one to hear.

It was a long time before she could sleep.


End file.
